


working double-time (on the seduction line)

by Confessions_of_a_Closet_Bibliophile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Bottom Sam Winchester, Incest, M/M, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confessions_of_a_Closet_Bibliophile/pseuds/Confessions_of_a_Closet_Bibliophile
Summary: PWP with a dash of Sam’s daily prescribed self-loathing and a little bit of praise from Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	working double-time (on the seduction line)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC.
> 
> This was so much fun to write, and it took way more time than anything I’ve posted here before. I wanted to try my hand at realistic sex, so...here *nudges fic closer* 
> 
> Blah blah blah, obligatory acknowledgement that these two characters are brothers, etc. It’s weird, yeah, but considering how popular incest porn is, I think that we get a pass. 
> 
> Also, watch how Dean fucks and try to convince me that he’s not at the very least a service top. He’s just so sweet!

Sam steps out of the bathroom, steam escaping in a billowing cloud. He's tied a towel around his waist, like he always does because _if he doesn't slap some lotion on as soon as possible, his skin's gonna dry and it won't absorb, stop laughing Dean!_

Dean's sitting on the bed he claimed earlier that night, farthest from the door so he can satisfy his neanderthal desire to feel like a protector. Sam shoves away the tiny part of him that relishes in being protected. He briskly rubs on the minimal amount of lotion, knowing he needs to get started before he freezes up. 

For once in his life, Dean waits patiently for him to finish. 

"Okay, let's go over this one last time." Dean says, giving Sam a serious, sincere look, which is honestly so weird and unsettling. If he threw in a "bitch" or made a dumb joke, Sam might stop feeling like the ground is shifting away from under his feet. Maybe if Dean had ever been the type of person to have earnest conversations, but that's always been Sam's thing. His "sad puppy eyes" as Dean likes to call them were developed specifically to pin down his stubborn ass brother and make him open up. 

And maybe that's not quite the right phrasing for this situation. 

Judging by the discomfited look on Dean's face, Sam's not doing a good enough job of suppressing his nervous grin about that freudian slip. 

This is not gonna work if they're both edgy and freaked the entire time. Sam rolls his shoulders back, shakes his head a little to scatter those unhelpful thoughts. 

_This is Dean. Your dumb big brother who's a hell of a lot smarter than he lets on and who's died for you._ Sam grimaces, lifts a hand to scratch through his hair. 

That's a bad path to start meandering down. 

_Just relax. It's Dean._ He lets in the swell of _warmsafehome_ that his brother's name evokes and feels his smile settle more naturally, sees Dean deflate a little in response and some of the tenseness leave his shoulders and brows. 

"It's gonna be perfectly fine, Dean. I want this, and I want you to do this for me." Sam falters, doubt rising, realizing that maybe, "unless you don't-"

"No." 

Dean takes a half-step closer toward Sam, who makes a distinct effort to straighten up and stop hunching away from the raw edge of uncertainty that insists he's _wrong, twisted._

"No," Dean says with that constipated look he gets whenever he's forced to have a _chick-flick moment_. "I want this- have wanted this for longer than I'm willing to admit." 

He reads Sam's fears with precision, knows Sam because Dean _created_ him. 

"And I'm not doing this because you made me feel this way or whatever your brain's telling you." 

Sam nods, wanting to reassure his brother too. "And I'm not doing this with you because you're conveniently here or just to get-" Here his throat closes up, and he skips over the name like a worn-down cassette. "-to clear the slate." 

"Good. That's good," Dean says. He hasn't looked at Sam like this, soft and warm, since he was a too-young kid trying to take care of his baby brother. Sam wonders if this side of Dean, really, is why so many women are drawn to him. 

"I need you to tell me what's going on in your head if we're gonna do this. You say stop, we stop. You say slow down, we slow down. I don't want to hurt you. Promise me." 

Sam swallows hard, the intent in Dean's gaze leaving him trembling. 

"Promise." 

Sam's bare knees sink into the mattress as he braces himself on splayed fingers. He can't tell if it's nervousness or the blood rushing toward his skull that's making him so lightheaded. 

As he starts to panic, feeling more exposed than he's ever been, Dean palms the nape of Sam's neck, grounding him, sweeps his hand down Sam’s spine to rest in the center of his back. Under the gentle pressure, Sam's whole body _melts_ , tensed muscles and locked joints relaxing, arms buckling until they're pressed against the bed, his head coming to a rest on his forearms. 

The movement forces his knees further apart, and his back arches at the odd sensation of chilly air on his asshole. 

Sam clenches reflexively, hears Dean inhale sharply behind him. The bed shifts slightly, and Sam jumps when Dean slowly runs a finger down the cleft of his ass to tap at his rim, subsiding under his steady hand. 

"Uh, do you want to use gloves?" Sam asks, his face flushing. He'd taken care to scrub all over, but _still_. 

Dean chuckles. 

"It doesn't bother me, Sammy, but I can get them if you want." 

Sam nods vigorously, "Please. It would make me feel better." Turning, he peers over his shoulder at Dean and asks quietly, "But, uh, just one hand. So it doesn't feel so clinical."

There's the snap of a black nitrile glove, Dean's " _sonuvabitch_ " when he tilts the bottle and too much lube dribbles down his fingers toward his wrist. 

Sam laughs as he frantically twists his hand to catch it. 

"Hey, don't waste the lube!" 

Dean looks up and grins cheerfully.

"Whoops." 

Even though he's expecting it, Sam still jerks forward when slippery fingers prod at him. 

The first finger goes in easily. It feels...well, it feels like Sam's got a finger up his ass. Dean pumps his finger in and out, slowly, hypnotically. 

"Can you take more?" he asks, withdrawing his finger to stroke down Sam's perineum toward his balls. 

" _Nnngh_ ," Sam says, lifting his head from the comforter. "I'm good. Keep going." 

Two fingers aren't that bad either. Dean's careful, only pressing forward when Sam's pushing back and stopping when he's not. Sam clenches down on Dean's knuckles, and the added pressure makes him groan. He gets a minute to adjust before Dean returns to opening Sam up. Every once in a while, he pulls out and drips more lube onto his hand, rubs his thumb over his fingers to coat them again. 

It’s not until Sam’s been saying “more, Dean, _please_ ” for a while, getting closer and closer to actually begging that he sinks three broad fingers in. 

It stings a little, but Sam’s mostly grateful that Dean’s doing this, if only because he does not miss getting that cramp in his shoulder from trying to find the right angle. 

Dean waits until he’s all the way in, until Sam’s trying to relax, to casually say, “Hey, Sammy, what do you say next time we pick up a pretty pair of panties for you? Would you wear them for me?” 

Sam bucks back at the nickname, then flushes hot in humiliation. 

“Ah ah ah, I know you’d like it. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

Dean’s such a dick sometimes, honestly. Sam’s gearing up to tell him that and some more, but Dean takes that moment to start fucking Sam open again. His disgruntled reply turns into a shuddery moan. 

“You-” Sam wheezes. “-are such, _God_ , an asshole.” 

Dean chuckles, but he gentles his thrusts in silent apology. Sam gets lost for a bit, caught between waves of _pressure_ , a hint of pain sharpening the edges. The room is silent save for the squelching of Dean moving in Sam. 

Something about this, maybe the unexpected care that Dean’s showing, reminds Sam of his daily, routine prayers. It’s been ages since he stopped, gave it up as a useless effort, all empty noise. But there was a time when Sam prayed. Quick stops at Pastor Jim’s where he’d walk through the pews to the front row, feeling privileged to be in a sacred space and to be heard by someone. Silent prayers, riding backseat then shotgun in the Impala. Countless repetitions of the Rosary on his morning runs, really the only privacy he ever got growing up. 

He’s familiar with the concept of hallowed ground, and this motel bed shouldn’t be it. 

But.

What they’re doing, what Dean’s giving him, feels _holy_.

"I can feel your heartbeat," Dean whispers, almost reverently. Sam feels flayed open, that familiar sense of self-loathing retreating a little in the face of Dean’s approval. 

“I’m ready,” he chokes out, “please, I need it, _Dee_.” 

“Alright, Sammy, shh, it’s okay.” 

A rough, calloused hand on Sam’s back quiets him, and he feels strangely vulnerable when it lifts away. He forces himself to stay still, _don’t look back_ , it’s _fine_ , as Dean strips off his glove and meticulously greases the plug. 

“Relax, Sammy.”

Cool, slick silicone presses against Sam, then Dean begins to push it in. 

It _burns_ ; Sam had forgotten how much it burns, even though he's sure it's not that much wider than three of Dean's fingers. It feels _immense_ as it stretches him. He bears down hard, his hole mouthing fruitlessly at the blunt, unforgiving material. 

"Wait," Sam gasps, "Hold on." 

Dean freezes, keeps steady pressure so the plug doesn't pop out. 

"How are you doing, do we need to stop?" he asks, rubbing soothing little circles into Sam's back. 

"Ah- I'm alright." 

Sam somehow manages to form the words. 

"Just need a break for a second." 

Taking deep breaths, _in through the nose, out through the mouth_ , he makes his body go lax, sinks down so his thighs and calves meet. It still _hurts_ , but he knows it'll get better. 

"You can keep going." 

The stinging stretch returns with a vengeance. 

Sam realizes he's panting, drawing in unsteady pulls of air as he pushes back against the intrusion. It feels like he's tearing in two. 

After what feels like hours of glacial progress but is probably seconds, the pain subsides. 

The plug slips in and Sam closes around its neck. 

"You're doing so good, Sammy, you're so good," Dean murmurs. 

The combination of relief and Dean's praise sends electricity up Sam's spine. He _moans_ , head lolling backward. It's still a lot, but in a bearable way. 

Sam shudders as Dean's fingers stroke at his stretched rim. He forces himself up on shaking arms. Dean guides him back, a hand between his shoulders and the other grasping his bicep, helps him upright. 

"Wanna sit back a little, it'll be less that way." 

"Sure thing," Dean says, supporting practically all of Sam's not inconsiderable weight as he carefully eases him down. Setting the base of the plug against the mattress, Sam wriggles and opens up around it more. 

"Full," he slurs out. "So full." 

Shifting back all the way shoves the plug in _deeper_ , and Sam's world goes black for a second in not-quite-pain but something similar. 

He jolts forward a bit, " _too much_ , too far." 

Rocking his hips in tight, jerky motions pushes at the plug inside him, drags it against his rim and sends just a little pain and bright pleasure skittering through him. 

Sam feels a wetness on his upper thigh. 

Surprised, he looks down to see his dick leaking precome, dripping in spurts as it bobs in the air. Wavering, he reaches blindly for Dean and grabs his shoulder. 

“I- ah, _god-_ can’t. Help me?” 

He squirms, feels the base of the plug holding him open, clamps down around it and keens. Dean makes little shushing sounds as he rearranges them to lean against the headboard, his dick pressing insistently into Sam's back. 

Sam nearly passes out when Dean touches his dick. 

He throws his head back, almost breaks Dean's nose as Dean swears and ducks to the side. 

He’s never felt like this before, an exposed wire of pure sensation, sort of like being electrocuted. His muscles tense and release rapidly, twitching without his permission. His lower body locks up and his hips thrust upward. 

“Oof,” Dean says as Sam drives most of his weight back through his shoulders into Dean’s sternum, “Ease up, Sam.” 

When his ass hits the bed, the renewed pressure tears a low groan from his chest. It feels like his molecules are vibrating, the only word he can say is “ _Dean_.” He rocks back as Dean twists his hand up and down, playing with Sam's balls and rubbing just under the head of his dick, prompting a harsh, full-body shudder. 

Dean winds his free hand into Sam's hair, giving it a gentle tug.

"Harder," Sam begs.

Dean obliges, yanking Sam's head back. His dick jumps in response, and all of the sudden, Sam's _there_. 

He gasps for air as they climb toward the precipice, together. 

Then he falls. 

He wakes. 

He’s lying on his side. 

A warm, damp washcloth gently cleans off sweat and come. Careful fingers prod at his hole, held implacably open. Sam arches, pushes weakly back into Dean's hand. 

"Alright, baby, can you give it back to me?" Dean asks, so kind Sam can barely stand it.

He bears down, exhausted, until his body gives way. More swipes with the cooling towel before it's tossed away with a muted thump. Sam shivers, not at air hitting wet skin, but at Dean’s strong hands now roaming in steady strokes over him. 

“You back now, Sammy?” 

Wordless and overwhelmed, Sam just nods. 

“Alright, baby, you did so well. So good for me.” 

Sam closes his eyes and lets the words sink into him, down to where he’s been broken for so many years, since Jess died. 

It doesn’t fix him, he doubts that anyone could do that, not even Dean. But it soothes, a balm against the ugly and raw parts of himself. 

Dean curls around Sam, blankets him with his arms and his body heat. 

Sam sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I've really been in a Supernatural mood lately! As of now, my next planned fic will be a SPN World War Z fusion (the novel by max brooks, not the movie).


End file.
